They say
I'm not modern enough:
I have
nothing to say that's new.
I stand
accused: arch prolixity-
a crime
in times of sparely writ
lit-lite.
Angry
I am, indeed enough
to rant
and rave in verbosely
hot rage.
Fuck you
all, tasteful arbiters!
I'll take
my spats and ear trumpet
to the
Queen of the Mayflies' ball.
Take your
urban, gritty truths and
place them
in your own fundament.
My gut
rejects your hip-hop
right-on
spare monosyllables.
I'll read
them through ribboned pince-nez
and rue
the lack of adjectives.
Don't thrust
your Carver in my face;
keep your pared prose, I don't
need it.
Comments
chuck | September 14, 2008 - 15:16
You've pinpointed a major problem here Ewan. Literary evolution has accelerated to an alarming pace. It may well disappear up its own fundament.
Silver Spun Sand | September 14, 2008 - 15:53
Very well said, Ewan and if my daughter says those words to me any more, "Show, don't tell Mum," I think I shall scream;-)
Tina
Nathan Bednarek | September 14, 2008 - 23:45
I'm not prepared to comment... quite frankly, I'm afraid to comment ;-p
It's a good one Ewan. ;-)